


Trivial Pursuits

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Young Cormoran [2]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Shenanigans, Trivial Pursuit as a seduction tool, Young Cormoran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: January 1991. In which Cormoran, recently moved to London, makes a new friend.
Relationships: Nick Herbert & Cormoran Strike
Series: Young Cormoran [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615504
Comments: 38
Kudos: 25





	1. Study Evening

Cormoran hesitated on the Hackney street, looking at the front of the house he’d made his way to, and then glanced up and down the road. This must be it.

It wasn’t as posh as he’d feared, but it was nicer than he’d hoped. If anything did come of the evening, he was going to have to make sure he never brought her back to the squat. She’d probably be horrified.

He walked on a little way in the early evening darkness, pondering having a cigarette, but he didn’t really want to turn up reeking of smoke, in case— Well, in case.

He’d been in London four weeks now. Leda’s plan to stay in Cornwall until he and Lucy had finished their schooling had lasted less than six months. She’d been restless through the autumn, gone to London a couple of times to stay with friends, and shortly after Christmas had announced that she’d found a job and a flat in the capital, and they were moving yet again. Ted and Joan had protested - it was only four months until Cormoran was due to sit his GCSEs, they’d argued, and surely the move could be delayed until the summer, but Leda was adamant the job couldn’t wait.

So the ever-mobile little family had set off again. The job turned out to be fronting a record label, manning the desk and answering the phone, booking bands in for recording sessions. And the flat had turned out to be two rooms in a squat, a derelict old building that felt unsafe, whose stairwells reeked of piss and whose other inhabitants ranged from the odd to the downright terrifying. Lucy had been horrified. She had refused to contemplate sleeping anywhere other than near her protective big brother, and so they shared a relatively large room despite Cormoran now being sixteen and Lucy almost fifteen. They slept on mattresses on the floor against opposite walls. Cormoran privately doubted Lucy would stay much longer.

The other factor in all of this was clearly the main reason for the latest abrupt move. Leda had taken up with the lead singer of one of the bands signed to the record label, a truly awful, skinny, greasy guy called Jeff Whittaker whom Cormoran had hated on sight. He was spending more and more time at the squat with them, smoking dope with Leda, telling his ridiculous and macabre stories of death and decay, terrifying Lucy but just making Cormoran roll his eyes. He was sure it was all a show. To his disgust, the guy was significantly younger than Leda, barely five years older than Cormoran himself. It made him feel quite sick to think about it, and there was no avoiding it - their rooms in the squat were close together and the walls thin, and Whittaker was (Cormoran suspected deliberately) not quiet when he was having sex with their mother. Lucy would weep quietly, and sometimes come and lie on his mattress with him, away from the adjoining wall next to her own bed.

Cormoran was considering ringing Ted and Joan and asking them to take Lucy back to Cornwall. But in all their peripatetic childhood, he and Lucy had never lived apart. Whether in Cornwall, Norfolk, the various places in London Leda had dragged them to or at their aunt and uncle’s without their restless mother, they had always been a little unit, safe together. He knew Lucy would be happier, more secure, back in Cornwall, but he also knew she’d miss him, and he her.

He could go back too, he supposed, but he really needed to stop in one place and finish his schooling, and London looked like it might have more to offer than sleepy St Mawes. Plus there was something about Whittaker that set every alarm bell in his head ringing. For the first time in his life, his instinct to protect his mother was stronger than his urge to protect his sister. So he lingered, hating to stay, unwilling to go, unsure what to do about Lucy.

He shook his head as though to dispel the unwanted thoughts. He hopefully had a fun evening on the cards, which would serve as a decent distraction. He turned back towards the house in question.

As always, his appearance at a new school, coupled with his size and practised easy demeanour, had attracted attention. He affected to be oblivious to the nudging and giggling amongst the girls, concentrating on working out the dynamic of the groups of lads and where he might fit in. In Cornwall he had Dave Polworth; he had yet to find a good mate, a partner in crime, here in Hackney.

Despite pretending to ignore the girls, he was also carefully cataloguing who hung out with who, who were likely to be the ringleaders and so on. So when Rachel had sidled up to him and coyly told him she was starting a study group for their GCSEs, and would he like to join, he had agreed readily. She was one of the brainy ones, predicted to do well in the exams, but there was something about the way she’d asked him that had hinted that there might be more than study on offer. He wasn’t even sure how big the group was likely to be, though she’d said her best friend Helen was in it.

Rachel had long, very straight dark hair, was a head shorter than him with blue eyes and a slightly turned-up nose that was cute, and a figure that had very definitely attracted his attention, curvy and filling out her school blouse in a way that made it difficult not to notice. Her friend Helen was a little taller, with wavy blonde hair and grey-green eyes. Cormoran knew from the giggling that had gone on between the girls since his invitation that some plan was afoot. He was hoping a snog might be on the menu, and although he had a definite preference for Rachel, he wasn’t going to complain if his purpose tonight was to be paired off with Helen.

He hefted his rucksack higher on his shoulder, marched up to the front door and pressed the bell. He’d brought his books to be on the safe side, in case this really was a study evening. Buried under them in the bottom of his rucksack were a few cans of beer - a couple that he’d nicked, without a shred of guilt, from Whittaker’s supply at the squat, and a couple more he’d purchased along with his cigarettes. It was another reason he was reluctant to leave London; he’d found a Saturday job and therefore a source of income almost immediately here, whereas he’d been looking for some time back in Cornwall.

Rachel opened the door and grinned cheerfully at him. “Corm! Come in!” she cried, and stood back for him. She was wearing a dark crop top that showed a wide stripe of her midriff and stretched tantalisingly across her bust, along with fitted leggings. Her feet were bare and her toes painted red, her makeup carefully done to accentuate the clear blue of her eyes, and her straight hair swinging like a jet curtain around her shoulders. The chances of this being an actual study evening were looking increasingly remote.

He stepped into the hall and stood uncertainly for a moment. Rachel shut the door and smiled up at him. “Stick your bag and coat over there,” she told him, indicating a row of coats hung to the right of the door, “and come on through.”

She went through a door just beyond the coats, into the kitchen. Cormoran dumped his bag on the floor by the wall, shrugged off his coat and hung it with the others, and followed her through.

The kitchen was long, with a range cooker and units at one end and a long dining table extending down towards patio doors at the back. A bookcase on the far wall held a higgledy assortment of books and board games. Already sat at the table with drinks in front of them were Rachel’s best friend Helen and a guy from school who Cormoran vaguely recognised from some of his classes, tall and slim with floppy blond hair and friendly hazel eyes. He was wearing a shirt rather than the T-shirt and jumper Cormoran had pulled on. Helen was wearing a pretty blouse. The drinks in front of them could have been a coke and an apple juice, but Cormoran would have been willing to bet they were alcoholic.

Not a study evening, then. Thank goodness he’d left his books in his bag.

“You know Helen?” Rachel asked, and Cormoran nodded and smiled. “Hi, Helen.”

“And that’s Nick,” Rachel added. The blond guy stood and approached, his arm out, and the two young men shook hands, eyeing one another up.

“Herbert,” his new acquaintance added. “Nick Herbert.”

“Strike,” Cormoran replied. “Cormoran Strike.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a name.”

Cormoran grinned and shrugged. “Yeah. People don’t forget it.”

Nick grinned back. “I bet. You’re the new guy, in Hooper’s tutor group? I’m in Carter’s.”

Cormoran nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Just about know my way around now.”

“Drink, Corm?” Rachel asked. “I’ve got a beer, or there’s vodka and coke.”

“I brought some beers,” Cormoran replied. “Let me get them, I’ll have one of those.”

He fetched his stashed drinks from his rucksack in the hallway and brought them through. Rachel and Helen were pouring more glasses of coke, and peering at a large vodka bottle.

“Impressive,” Cormoran remarked, nodding at the bottle. He put three cans in the fridge and opened one.

“It’s mum and dad’s, I got it from the drinks cabinet,” Rachel replied. “I’m just looking to see if they’ve marked the level so they can tell if we drink any. I don’t think so.”

“What’s that?” Helen pointed to a mark at the edge of the label. The girls leaned to look.

“It is a pen mark, but it’s in the wrong place,” Rachel said, frowning. “It’s below where the vodka comes up to.”

A wry smile pulled at Cormoran’s mouth. He leaned across, took the bottle from her and upended it, and turned it so the label faced her. He didn’t even have to look to know that the line would now be level with the top of the liquid.

Rachel stared, her eyes wide. “The cheeky buggers,” she muttered. “They are checking.” She raised her eyes to his. “How did you know about that?”

Cormoran laughed and righted the bottle, set it back on the table. “Mate of mine from back home got caught nicking his dad’s whisky that way,” he said cheerfully. Polworth had been furious to be caught out, and even more furious to have had to face the music alone when Cormoran had helped drink the whisky.

Rachel winked at him, a sly look that made his libido surge. “Good thing I invited you.”

He gave her a slow, lazy grin back, gratified to see her eyes widen slightly. “I have my uses.”

He moved to sit at the table while the girls fussed about pouring a little vodka into a measuring cup, dividing it between their glasses and then refilling the cup with water to add back into the bottle to disguise their theft.

“Where’s ‘back home’, then?” Nick asked him, making conversation.

“Cornwall,” Cormoran replied, taking a seat at the end of the table, his back to the patio doors. “South. Do you know it at all?”

“Nope,” Nick replied cheerfully. “Don’t think I’ve ever been west of Reading. Wurzel country?”

Cormoran laughed. “Strictly speaking, that’s Somerset,” he replied. “And no, it’s not the same thing,” he added as Nick opened his mouth. “The South West is big.”

“The only fact I know about Cornwall,” Nick added as the girls finally gathered up their drinks and came to sit down, “or at least I think I do, is that they call a Cornish pasty an oggy? Mate of mine went last summer.”

Cormoran inclined his head. “They do indeed,” he acceded.

Nick grinned, pleased with himself. “My one Cornish fact. Who knew it would come in handy?”

“So,” Rachel said as she and Helen sat down. “Does anyone actually want to do any studying?”

Nick snorted and Helen giggled. Cormoran swigged his beer. “I’m sure we can think of better ways to fill the evening,” he said lazily.

Rachel gave him a cheeky sideways glance. “I thought you’d actually brought books when I saw that rucksack.”

Cormoran felt his cheeks warm a little, and hoped it didn’t show. “Nah, I just pretended, to fool Mum and hide the beers,” he replied lightly. Rachel nodded, and he breathed a little easier. He seemed to have got away with it. “Where are the olds?” he asked, keen to move the conversation on.

“Theatre,” Rachel replied. “And my little sister’s on a sleepover, so the place is ours until eleven or so.”

Cormoran was liking the sound of this evening more and more. He took another swig of his beer.

“How about a game?” Helen asked, looking at the jumbled stack of games on the shelf. Rachel glanced at the guys. Nick shrugged and Cormoran nodded. “Could do.”

“What shall we play?” Rachel asked.

“Why don’t you girls choose?” Nick suggested. “I think I might go out for a smoke, if that’s all right with you, Rach?” And to Cormoran’s delight, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stood up.

Rachel nodded. “Just don’t leave the butts where my parents can find them,” she said.

Cormoran drained his beer and stood too. “We can stick them in here,” he said, indicating his can. He, too, produced his cigarettes from his pocket, and Nick met his gaze in a moment of camaraderie.

Cormoran handed Nick the empty beer can and went to get another from the fridge. Nick took his glass and hovered by the patio doors, waiting for him, and they stepped out onto the patio together.

They slid the door closed behind them and busied themselves lighting their cigarettes. Cormoran drew deeply on his and blew the smoke out across the dark garden. It was cold, and his breath clouded the air along with the smoke.

They stood for a minute in silence, enjoying their smokes and beers.

“So what’s the deal tonight?” Cormoran asked, watching the girls through the glass. They were stood in front of the shelf of games, ostensibly choosing one but clearly gossiping, judging by the giggling and frequent glances cast out towards the guys in the garden.

Nick drew on his cigarette and eyed him appraisingly. “Not studying, obviously,” he said drily.

Cormoran hesitated. This could go one of two ways. He sensed that this guy could be an ally, liked his easy demeanour and laid-back attitude.

He was usually a pretty good judge of people. He took a risk. “I did actually bring my books,” he admitted, and Nick chortled. Cormoran shrugged. “Hey, what’s a guy to do? You bring books to a hookup, you’re just a dork. Don’t bring books to a study evening, you’re a perv.”

Nick roared with laughter. “That is so true! And you’ve not been here long enough to know that Rachel’s study evenings never involve books.”

Cormoran grinned broadly. “That’s what I was hoping!” he replied. “So, what do I need to know?”

Nick threw him a sideways glance as he took another drag on his cigarette. “Only that I’ve been working on Helen for a couple of months now, and I think I might finally be getting somewhere, so I’m really hoping your sights are set on Rachel.”

Cormoran laughed, relieved. “They definitely are.”

Nick held up his glass for Cormoran to clink his can against. “Then may the best men both win,” he said, grinning.

Cormoran thought about this for a moment, and watched the girls through the glass. “Indeed,” he replied. “And why don’t we see if we can tip the odds in our favour?”

Nick took a last drag of his cigarette and bent to drop it into the empty beer can by the door. “In what way?”

Cormoran eyed him up, thinking. “How’s your general knowledge?”

Nick shrugged. “Pretty good. What, we going to seduce them by quiz?”

“Kind of,” Cormoran replied slyly. “They’ve got Trivial Pursuit in there, I saw it. Same one my aunt and uncle have got. What are your subjects? I’m pretty good at Art and Lit, History, Sport, maybe a bit of Entertainment if it’s music.”

A slow smile spread across Nick’s face. “Science and Nature for me, and Geography. Also Sport. Entertainment if it’s films.”

Cormoran grinned. “Dream team. Bet we can charm the pants off them. Literally.”

Nick put his head on one side. “What’s your plan?”

Cormoran dropped his cigarette end into the can too. “Just follow my lead.”


	2. Not A Study Evening

They young men slid the patio doors and stepped back into the kitchen. The girls were making more vodka and cokes, giggling. Nick fetched two more beers from the fridge, handing Cormoran one he didn’t recognise and assumed Nick must have brought. Real ale. He liked this guy. They had a lot in common.

Cormoran moved across to the bookshelves. “Right,” he said firmly, taking control of proceedings. He reached the Trivial Pursuit box down from a shelf and put it in the middle of the table. “Let’s get this evening started.”

Rachel turned and grinned at him. “Trivial Pursuit?”

He met her gaze coolly, as though daring her to challenge him. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

Rachel glanced at Helen, and they smirked at one another.

“No.” Rachel stuck her chin up. “Just wouldn’t like to see you embarrass yourselves.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cormoran caught Nick’s delighted grin. He smiled, holding Rachel’s clear blue gaze with his dark one. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”

“No?”

“No.” Cormoran paused. “Care to make it interesting?”

She wasn’t backing down from his gaze, her blue eyes challenging him cheekily, making his heart beat faster. Suddenly he was daring to hope that some snogging would be on the cards later. “Go on.”

“Guys against girls, and the losing team forfeit.”

Rachel and Helen exchanged glances, and then Helen looked at Nick. “How about we make it really interesting?” she said suddenly. “For every question you get wrong, you have to take off an item of clothing.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Strip Triv? A whole new concept, I like it.”

Cormoran chuckled. “And for every question you get right, you get a pie.”

Rachel grinned. “It’s a cheese.”

“To be argued later,” Cormoran laughed. “What does the winning team get?”

Rachel nudged Helen. “If we win, you guys have to completely strip.”

Cormoran didn’t even look at Nick. “And if we win?”

There was a pause, and then Nick said, “They have to snog us.”

Helen squeaked and giggled, her cheeks going pink, and Cormoran saw the genius of this idea. Helen clearly already wanted that outcome. He grinned. “Sounds fair. Rules set, then?”

Rachel tossed her long hair. “If we’re going to be stripping, we should play in the lounge and put the fire on,” she said, picking up the game box. “Wouldn’t want you guys to get cold.”

“I don’t think there’s any danger of that either,” Cormoran said lazily. He risked a cheeky wink at her, and she blushed.

The girls led the way through to the living room, and the guys followed. Cormoran was on his third beer now, the buzz of alcohol warming his veins. He and Nick exchanged a look while Rachel fiddled with the gas fire, turning it up high, and Helen started to set up the game. Nick’s hazel eyes met Cormoran’s dark ones and they both grinned. This evening had the potential to be a memorable one.

It also had the potential for a spate of embarrassing stories to do the rounds at school. Cormoran decided not to think too closely about that. It had been the girls’ idea to suggest they strip; hopefully this meant they were at least curious. That could bode well too, if it came to it. With a bit of luck, it wouldn’t. He hoped Nick was as good at the game as he claimed.

They settled around the board on the floor. Rachel sat near the fire, leaning back against the sofa, and Cormoran settled himself next to her. Nick sat to his right, his back to an armchair, and Helen sat opposite, cross-legged.

“Colours?” Helen asked.

Cormoran and Nick looked at one another and shrugged.

“No Spurs white,” Nick said.

“Or Arsenal red,” Cormoran shot back.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “For goodness’ sake,” she said fondly. “Blue for guys, pink for girls, there we go.” She set the two pieces firmly in the middle.

“Right.” Helen grabbed the die and rolled it, and passed it to Nick, and the game began.

The girls won the right to start, rolled again and chose yellow.

Nick pulled out the first card. “What was Prince Philip’s rank on the day he married the Queen?”

The girls looked at one another blankly.

“He was in the...navy?” Rachel said.

“Yeah, and they were already married when she became queen, so they must have married young. So not very high,” Helen mused. “Um...captain? Is that a navy rank?”

Rachel shrugged. She turned to Nick. “Captain?”

Nick flipped the card. “Nope. Lieutenant.”

“Shit,” Rachel muttered. She pulled a bangle off her wrist at set it aside. Helen removed her watch.

Cormoran gave them a suspicious mock-glare. “Does jewellery count?”

“Yes,” the girls said in unison, and Nick laughed. “We’ll let them have that one,” he said. “You roll.”

Cormoran picked up the die. He rolled and they chose green.

Rachel took the cards. “What is the proper name for the breast bone?”

“Sternum,” Nick said promptly.

Cormoran cast him a sideways look. “You sure?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” Cormoran looked at Rachel. She flipped the card.

“Damn it, he’s right,” she said grudgingly. Cormoran grinned and grabbed a green wedge to add to their counter.

The game moved on. The two teams were actually fairly evenly split. The guys rued their lack of knowledge of Dallas on the Entertainment question. Nick removed his watch; Cormoran, who wasn’t wearing his, his jumper.

The girls took their turn, and gained two wedges in quick succession, but then got a cricket question wrong. Giggling, Helen removed her socks while Rachel set her watch next to her bangle.

The tension in the room was creeping up slowly. Cormoran reached to count their piece around to the next space, and was sure Rachel was covertly admiring his forearms. Not for the first time, he was glad of his dark hair and the quantity of it. He’d always been able to get away with claiming to be older than he was.

They landed on brown. Art and Literature.

Helen grabbed a card. “Which Cornish writer won the 1983 Nobel Prize for Literature?”

Nick turned to Cormoran. “Well?”

Cormoran grinned. “William Golding.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “Lord of the Flies guy? He’s from Cornwall?”

“Yup.”

Helen turned the card over. “I guess we can give you that.”

Cormoran raised his chin. “Because it’s right.”

“Says Sir William Golding here.”

Rachel giggled. “Same guy. Anyone would think you want them to take more clothes off.”

Helen cast a coy glance at Nick. “Maybe I do.”

Cormoran grinned and grabbed a brown wedge for their counter.

“I’m getting another beer,” Nick said, scrambling to his feet.

“Good idea, let’s get another round,” Rachel agreed, clambering up too. Her glass and Helen’s were both empty.

The four made their way back to the kitchen. Cormoran grabbed two of his beers from the fridge, and he and Nick went back outside while Rachel and Helen got the vodka bottle and the measuring cup out again and started the faff of stealing vodka undetected. The girls were both pink-cheeked now and growing bolder, the flirting becoming more overt. They watched the guys shamelessly as they slid the patio doors closed and got out their cigarette packets.

Cormoran lit his cigarette and grinned at Nick. “I think we’re in, mate,” he said slyly.

Nick nodded, lighting his own. “I had hoped so, when I was invited,” he replied. “I’ve heard rumours about Rachel’s study groups, and she had that look when she told me Helen was going to be here.”

Cormoran drew on his cigarette, nerves fluttering suddenly. It hadn’t occurred to him that anything more than a snog might be on offer; suddenly he really wanted to know exactly what happened at these evenings. He wasn’t afraid, but he was unprepared. He told himself he really must, next time he got paid, get a pack of condoms and keep one in his wallet.

“So what exactly is on offer,” he heard himself ask, “at these so-called study groups? I mean, is it...?” He trailed off, not sure how to phrase the question.

Nick cast him a sideways look. “I don’t think the whole...you know,” he replied. “Duncan McKinnon reckoned before Christmas he got a blowjob off Rachel. But he does bullshit a lot, so that could be rubbish.” He shrugged.

“Interesting,” Cormoran said, grinning. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t go too far, I don’t have the necessary supplies. Better get some for next time!” He winked.

Nick cast him a curious glance as he drew on his cigarette again. “You sixteen yet?”

“Yeah, November. You?”

“Yeah, October. But I don’t think the girls are. So I don’t think a shag is on the cards, sadly.”

Cormoran swigged his beer. “Pity.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve done it, then?”

Cormoran grinned. He hadn’t told many people about his experiences last summer, but he liked this guy. “Yeah. You?”

Nick shook his head. “Not yet, but not for lack of trying. Lucky bastard, how was it?”

Cormoran drew on his cigarette again. “Yeah, good. I met this woman at...” He trailed off and sighed. Nick would know the whole picture soon enough, if they became friends. “My mum’s a bit of a hippie, we move around a lot. Spent last summer in a commune, and I had a bit of a fling with a, er, older woman.”

He had definitely captured Nick’s interest now. “How much older?”

Cormoran could feel his cheeks heating up again, and hoped Nick would think it was the alcohol. “Er, twenty-three. She thought I was seventeen.”

Nick gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

Cormoran grinned, remembering. “Yeah. Let’s just say I learned a lot.”

Nick snorted. “I bet! Wow, you really are a lucky sod. A whole summer?”

Cormoran shrugged, reaching to stub out his cigarette on the beer can. “Yeah, a couple of months. Then we moved back to Cornwall, and then we came here. I kind of had an on-off thing with a girl down there, but it was only snogging every now and then. Girls get pretty cheesed off when you keep moving away and coming back.”

Nick nodded. “I bet they do.” He grinned cheekily. “I know who to ask for advice when the time finally comes, then.”

Cormoran shrugged. “You won’t need it. It’s pretty natural when it comes down to it.”

The patio door slid and Rachel poked her head out. “You guys ever coming back in?”

Cormoran grinned. “On our way.”

They watched as Rachel picked up the two vodka and cokes and went back to the living room.

“Come on,” Cormoran said, still grinning. “I don’t think they’ve got any more jewellery or socks to take off.”

Nick chortled. “I think you’re right. We’d better get back in there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The questions and answers are taken from an actual Trivial Pursuit set that’s almost but not quite old enough, so any mistakes are theirs not mine!


	3. Definitely, Definitely Not A Study Evening

Nick finished his cigarette swiftly, adding the butt to the can, and they made their way back indoors. The girls were on the sofa, whispering and giggling, and both jumped when the boys came in, their eyes twinkling mischievously.

Helen scrambled round to her place, and Cormoran sat himself back down with his back to the sofa. “What are you two plotting?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at Rachel.

She slid down off the sofa to sit next to him, much closer than she had been before. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she replied archly, her knee resting against his thigh as she crossed her legs.

Cormoran leaned forward for the die, allowing his forearm to rest on her knee. “Maybe I’d rather guess.” He held her gaze for a moment, his dark eyes searching her blue ones, and she didn’t look away.

He grinned and rolled the die, and the game moved on.

A tricky History question cost the guys their socks, and then it was the girls’ turn again.

The game was currently running in the girls’ favour; they only had one more category to get, but it was sport, and they were having a bad run of luck with repeated cricket questions.

Cormoran picked up the card. “You’re in luck. It’s not cricket.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Helen muttered.

“Which city hosted the first southern hemisphere Olympics?”

The girls looked at one another.

“Australia, South Africa or South America,” Rachel said. “So, it’ll be like Sydney or Buenos Aires or Capetown or somewhere.”

Helen bit her lip. “I don’t think it’s South Africa.”

“Australia, then?”

Helen shrugged. “Maybe.”

Rachel turned to Cormoran. “Sydney.”

He flipped the card, and a wicked grin spread across his face. “Close, but it’s Melbourne, sorry.”

Rachel ducked her head with a cheeky smile. She grinned across at Helen, who looked back, smiling but nervous, and then the girls simultaneously stripped their tops off.

There was a brief pause during which the guys couldn’t work out whether they were supposed to be admiring or averting their eyes. Cormoran couldn’t resist a glance at Rachel, and she grinned and tossed her head, inviting him to look. She wore a black bra, plain in the cups with a hint of lace around the edges, but with plenty of creamy flesh on show and an impressive cleavage. He swallowed hard and forced his eyes back to her face, and she winked at him. “You like?” she murmured, and he nodded mutely, arousal surging. Suddenly he could remember everything he’d been missing since the move back to Cornwall last September.

He cleared his throat and turned back to the game, not missing Rachel’s confident smirk. Nick and Helen were staring at one another. Helen’s cheeks were pink. She was less busty than Rachel, but her bra was, surprisingly, scarlet, showing off the colouring of her pale peach skin. Cormoran grinned at Nick staring, and leaned across and gave him a friendly shove.

“Oi, Herbert, it’s our go.”

Nick dragged his attention back to the board, and the girls giggled at one another while the guys rolled the die and counted spaces. They only needed Entertainment now - and a question not about Dallas - and they would win. The tension in the room had suddenly ramped up, the air charged. Cormoran couldn’t think of anything except the need to win the game so that he could snog Rachel and maybe be allowed to touch those incredible breasts. His cock was half hard already, fortunately held in check by the denim of his jeans, and he concentrated on breathing slowly and trying to keep everything under control.

Rachel leaned forward, reaching for the cards, and she lingered deliberately, Cormoran suspected, knowing that it looked as though she would surely spill out of her bra. She sat back slowly, her eyes watching him knowingly, and picked out a card.

“Which year saw John Lennon’s final live concert?”

The guys looked at one another.

“When did he die?” Nick asked.

“1980, I think,” Cormoran replied. “So, seventy-something.”

“Was he still touring?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, so... ’78?”

Cormoran shrugged. “Sounds good.” He turned to Rachel. “1978.”

She flipped the card. “Nope. 1972.”

“Really?” Cormoran was surprised. “That was quite a way back.”

“And, more importantly, you were wrong. Go on,” Rachel said, grinning.

The guys looked at one another. They were both in T-shirts and jeans now.

With a cheeky look at Helen, Nick stood and undid his jeans. The girls shrieked as he pushed them down and stepped out of them, and sat back down in his T-shirt and boxers.

Grinning, Cormoran stripped his T-shirt off.

The tables were briefly turned. Blushing, the girls scrabbled for the die and took their turn, but Cormoran had caught Rachel’s scorching glance at his torso.

He grinned to himself. He knew he looked good. He’d taken up boxing in the autumn back in Cornwall, and had soon found a club here in Hackney. His arms and shoulders were well defined now, and he knew he had more chest hair than most guys his age.

The girls managed to land on orange again, and Nick selected a card.

“Which sport begins in front of the south stake?”

The girls looked at him blankly. “What? What sport has stakes?”

Nick shrugged, grinning at Helen, who smiled shyly back. Her cheeks were still pink, from vodka or shy embarrassment or both.

Rachel drummed her fingers idly on Cormoran’s knee which was right next to her. He wondered if she’d noticed she’d started resting her hand on his leg in the last couple of minutes. Heat radiated from her touch through his body.

“Polo,” she said, firmly.

Helen looked doubtful. “Really?”

“Got a better idea?”

Helen shook her head, and they both turned to Nick.

He turned the card over, read it and raised his gaze to Helen’s. “No, sorry. Croquet.”

“No fair!” Rachel cried. “Nobody plays croquet any more!”

Cormoran laughed. “I believe the phrase is, ‘more importantly, you were wrong’,” he teased. “Go on.”

The girls looked at one another, and shrugged. Rachel stood and, with a shimmy and a wriggle, pushed her leggings down over her hips and stepped out of them, revealing knickers to match the bra. They covered a little more than Cormoran would have ideally liked, but he enjoyed the way they moulded to her backside as she gave him a brief twirl and then plonked herself back down next to him. Her gaze, when she met his, was heated. She knew exactly the effect she was having on him, and Cormoran dragged his eyes away before he totally lost control of his body’s reactions to her.

Helen was still hesitating, blushing.

“Come on, H,” Rachel said, giggling. “I did.”

“You don’t have to,” Nick told her quietly, and she shot him a grateful look.

“Too right,” Cormoran added, grabbing the die and rolling it. “It’s only a game if everyone’s having fun. Five - get on that pink square there, Nick.”

Rachel wrinkled her nose fondly at Helen while Nick counted the spaces. “Of course you don’t,” she reassured her.

Helen smiled again and took the cards from Nick, her hand lingering on his, Cormoran noticed with a grin.

“Which film starred Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly?”

“Um, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I think,” Nick said. “Bit before our era.”

Cormoran shrugged. “Sounds good. You’d better be right, though, mate!”

Nick grinned. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure.”

“So I have a ten percent chance of ending up naked here?”

Nick grinned. “They still have to win. Or we could call it a draw,” he added, casting a kind glance at Helen, who had clearly gone as far as she was comfortable with.

Helen smiled softly back at him. “Is that your answer?”

The guys looked at one another again, and Nick nodded. “It is.”

Helen turned the card over, and a grin spread across her face. “It’s right.”

Heart pounding suddenly, Cormoran picked up the pink wedge and dropped it into the last space in their counter. “We win.”

“Hang on,” Rachel said, her eyes on his, her voice low. “Don’t you have to get to the middle of the board?”

Cormoran cast his gaze sideways to where Helen had already leaned across and pressed her lips to Nick’s. “I think the game has been declared over,” he said, and sat back, waiting to see what she would do.

Rachel looked across at her friend shuffling herself closer to Nick, whose hands were in her hair now as they kissed, and turned back to Cormoran.

“Well, then,” she murmured and to his surprise, she swung herself across to straddle his lap, her hands on his bare shoulders.

His hands found their way to her slim waist at once as she leaned over him to kiss him, her tongue sliding into his mouth. She tasted of the sweet coke and the tang of vodka, her tongue twining with his, her hands sliding down across his chest.

Desire surged; it had been a very long time since he’d been this close to a female body, and too long since he’d had even the release afforded him by his own hand, stuck as he was sharing a bedroom with his sister. It seemed inappropriate even when Lucy was definitely asleep, and so he’d confined himself to a few times when the situation had grown desperate enough to barely need any intervention from him in the dark of the night. Suddenly he was afraid that there was a very real possibility of that happening now, as Rachel thrust her tongue harder against his and ground down on his lap, rocking against his cock where it strained at the fly of his jeans.

A fiercely pleasurable, quiet couple of minutes in the living room were interrupted by the slam of a car door outside the window and the slow manoeuvring of a vehicle. Rachel leapt off Cormoran’s lap as though scalded.

“Shit, it’s my parents!” she hissed, dragging her leggings back on. “I’m not allowed guys here when they’re out. You have to go!”

There was nothing like the imminent risk of being caught by an angry father to clear the fog of lust from the young men’s minds. Within seconds, they were madly scrambling to gather up their things. Dragging her blouse back on, Helen rushed to the kitchen to hide the vodka. Rachel threw coats and shoes and Cormoran’s rucksack through from the hall as he and Nick frantically dragged clothes on.

“This way!” Rachel bundled them back through the kitchen and out of the patio doors, their arms full of bags and coats and trainers, even as behind them they heard the bang of the front door slamming against its chain, and the deep voice of Rachel’s father calling through the gap for her to her to let them in.

“Back fence, there’s an alley,” she hissed, shoving socks at them and sliding the door to. “Sorry, Dad,” they heard her call as she hurried back to the front door, their view blocked as Helen quickly pulled the curtains, plunging the garden into darkness.

Cormoran and Nick hastened down the garden and threw their armfuls of belongings over the back fence.

“Fags!” hissed Nick, and dashed back for their beer can ashtray.

“Hurry up!” Cormoran whispered back. He made the first jump, pulling at the top of the fence, but it was higher than he anticipated and he fell back. He jumped again, pulling himself up as Nick arrived back behind him and gave him a hearty shove, rolling him over the top of the fence and lobbing the can after him. He stepped back and took a flying leap himself as Cormoran rolled to his feet and reached up for him, grabbing the shoulders of his shirt and pulling him over.

They landed in an ungainly heap on the muddy, grassy verge of the alley just as the lights switched on in the main bedroom overlooking the garden, and lay in a panting heap, hearts pounding. Silence descended, broken only by their heaving breaths.

Slowly they rolled apart and sat up, and looked at one another. Nick grinned, and Cormoran chuckled, and suddenly they were helpless with laughter, red-faced in the darkness and imploring one another to “shh” and “knock it off”.

Gradually their giggling subsided, and Nick pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. The pack was utterly crushed, his remaining two cigarettes broken.

“Shit,” he muttered, crestfallen.

“Here.” Cormoran offered him one of his, and Nick took one gratefully. They sat and smoked in the darkness, still laughing a little.

“Fuck, what a night,” Nick muttered, drawing hard on his cigarette.

“Worth it, though.”

“God, yeah,” Nick said dreamily.

Cormoran grinned at him in the gloom. “Get what you wanted?”

Nick nodded. “As much as I probably could have in the circumstances,” he said, grinning back. “Nothing like a dad turning up to ruin the mood.”

Cormoran laughed. “Good thing, though, I’d have had trouble walking otherwise.”

“Hah! Me too,” Nick said, grinning back at him as they smoked. “You made the better decision, keeping your jeans on for a bit of cover.”

Cormoran laughed. “Yeah, though I wished I hadn’t when she was grinding down on me.”

Nick snorted. “Lucky bastard, again,” he said. “Helen’s a bit less...forward, shall we say. I like her, though.”

“Yeah, she seems sweet.”

“And hopefully now she’ll agree to go out with me.”

Cormoran stubbed his cigarette out in the earth next to him and tossed it aside. “Right, which socks and trainers are whose?”

Chuckling, they felt around in the dark, working out what was whose until both had socks, shoes and coats on. They stood, and Cormoran shouldered his rucksack. They dusted themselves off and began to make their way along the alley behind the row of houses, heading in the direction they knew the main road must be.

“Can’t believe you actually brought your books,” Nick chortled.

Cormoran laughed. “I can’t believe you actually got that last question right, thank fuck.”

Nick grinned. “We’d have been all right,” he said. “We had the situation under control. Still had a layer to go before we were down to boxers, and they’d have forfeit before taking any more off.”

Cormoran snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

Nick raised an eyebrow at him, and his new friend grinned cheerfully. “Laundry day,” he said succinctly. “That’s why the T-shirt had to go - nothing under the jeans but me!”

“Hah!” Nick barked a laugh, and suddenly they were both laughing helplessly again as they emerged on to the road and swung right, back towards the centre of Hackney. Cormoran pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and offered Nick another, and they smoked as they strolled.

“So, a double date maybe, if they’ll have us?” Cormoran said. Nick nodded.

“Safety in numbers, they might agree to that. Cinema?”

Cormoran nodded too. “Need to wait till I get paid,” he said.

“No worries.” Nick strolled next to him, smoking as they went. “So where do you live?”

Cormoran hesitated to name the street, knowing that Nick would know it for the rough area it was, but received no reaction other than a nod.

“How about you?”

Nick shrugged. “Not all that far from you,” he said. “We’re not loaded like some. Dad’s a cabbie.”

Cormoran thought about that, taking his last drag on his cigarette and dropping the butt into the gutter.

They reached the end of the road where their journeys home divided and hovered, looking at one another.

“See you around, then?” Cormoran stuck his hand out.

Nick grinned, and shook it. “How about you come to mine for tea tomorrow? Mum’s making spag bol, she likes me having mates over. And it would be good to actually study for the mocks. I can catch you up on whatever we’ve done different here that you’ve missed.”

Cormoran grinned back at him. “Sounds good, thanks.” He turned away.

“Bye, Nick,” he called over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, Oggy.”

Chuckling, Cormoran strolled on towards his current home, his spirits lighter suddenly. He could see, now, why his mother kept drifting back to the capital. He was going to like being a Londoner.  
  



End file.
